


Doesn't Matter

by red_crate



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Getting Together, M/M, Monster of the Week, Mutual Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 12:10:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_crate/pseuds/red_crate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Yeah, okay so I’m actually just being lazy and using my whole Ignore it Until it Goes Away plan.”</p><p>“So basically,” Cora says, “you’re just being Stiles.  But with tits.”</p><p>“And sadly, no dick.”  Stiles twists his mouth in consternation.  “I really miss my dick.  We have good times, me and my dick.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doesn't Matter

**Author's Note:**

> Edited 8/26/2016

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles refuses to put on the skirt. It’s ridiculously short and he doesn’t care if it’s plaid (because Allison had tried to use that as a selling point). He’s not wearing a fucking skirt. He likes his jeans just fine, thanks.

“Stiles, when are you going to get another chance to dress like this?” On the screen of his laptop, Lydia crosses her arms but her face is nothing but reasonable. “You’re actually rather pretty as a girl. You could be even prettier if you would just let us—“ She looks to where Allison is leaning against Stiles' desk, still holding the skirt she'd been trying to convince him to try on.

It’s a testament to just how much Stiles’ crush on Lydia has fizzled over the past few years (reality is a bitch and some things just aren’t meant to be) that he cuts her off mid-sentence. He can’t bring himself to follow through with the impulse to end the Skype session though.

“Technically, I could wear a skirt any day I wanted, no matter what genitalia I had. It’s called cross-dressing and there are plenty of people who enjoy it to varying degrees. I don’t have to have a vagina to put on a dress and some lipstick. I’ve even done it already and it was okay for a few minutes, but not really my thing as a whole.” He takes pleasure in the raised eyebrows of both Allison and Lydia but he continues. “I’m not going to be your life-sized Barbie doll--even if I’ve been temporarily been turned into a girl.”

Allison gives a moue of frustration but lets out a long-suffering sigh in concession. She moves to sit on the edge of Stiles’ roommate’s bed and carefully folds the skirt up so she can stuff it back into the knapsack of clothes she'd brought to lend him. “I’m sorry, Stiles. We’re just trying to help.”

“Fine,” Lydia’s voice comes out thin but still full of superiority through the computer speakers, “if you want to be a fashion nightmare as a woman too then I leave you to it.” Lydia doesn’t bother saying goodbye and suddenly the Skype video screen is empty. It's as effective as if she had stormed out in real life. Stiles misses her but, sometimes, it's good that she's on the other side of the country.

Allison and Stiles stare at the floor for a few seconds in silence because it’s still kind of weird to hang out one-on-one after Scott and Isaac and now Richard. She has a tendency to accidentally break his pack mates’ hearts. Dating Richard, a hunter she met at college last spring, has started a whole new brand of star-crossed lovers plot-line. It's also managed to crack Scott and Isaac all over again. But the Derek's pack can’t shake her from their fringes because of the history they share and, more importantly, because Allison is their hunter liaison. Besides _that_ , she's honestly a valuable ally to have. Allison is kind of like a sister to him by this point and it’s difficult not to keep some love for her in Stiles’ heart.

Having finally accepted Stiles’ refusal, she puts the strap of her knapsack across her shoulder and fiddles absentmindedly with a zipper on the front. “So what has Deaton said about all of this?”

Pursing his lips, Stiles shuts his laptop and says, “That the spell will probably wear off in a week or so. The trickster used most of her juice on the alt reality and once Scott and Derek took her down, the power source went kaput.” He shrugs, looking anywhere but directly at her. “Honestly, I’m just happy to be back in my own world instead of Opposite Day Every Day World. Do you know how creepy it was to have Jackson back and trying to make out with me?” He’s able to force a laugh now that it’s over.

Stiles definitely does not think about how it had been his mom hugging him instead of his dad two days ago.

“Do you think Lydia’s pushing this girl thing so hard as revenge for getting a chance to be with Jackson?” Allison’s face goes pensive before it clears and she rolls her eyes in exasperation. Stiles can tell she's still a little concerned about Lydia. “She keeps up with him on Instagram but won’t talk about it despite the fact that she likes just about every post he makes.”

“Dude, are you—“ Scott skids to a halt just inside Stile’s open doorway as he spots Allison. He looks over at Stiles, reaching up the scrub at the back of his head as he stumbles over his words. “Okay, yeah, still a girl then.” His eyes reflexively flick over to Allison again (after all this time he still can’t not look) before Scott says, “Derek wants us to be there by six so…” His eyebrows climb up to his hairline, eyes big, as he hunches his shoulders.

He’s so weird around Allison; Stiles feels bad for him and finds it amusing in equal measures.

As Allison is making noise about seeing Stiles later and reminding him to let her know when he's back to his old self, Stiles stands up. He grabs the lanyard where he’s clipped his student ID, keys, and tiny mountain ash stake (that he absolutely named Mr. Pointy because he is Stiles and some things just need to be done even if they haven’t run across vampires yet). Scott lets Allison pass by him and watches her retreating form for all of two seconds before Stiles is pinching his side.

“Alright, let’s see if I can freak out Cora.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Holy shit.” Cora’s mouth is hanging open in disbelief. “Derek wasn’t messing around. You’re a girl!”

Stiles juts his hip out and sets a hand there as he tries to give his best flirtatious look, playing up his eyelashes in a flutter. “Yup. All woman.” He trails fingers over his modestly sized chest for emphasis. “For a little while, anyway. _Hopefully_.”

“Ooh, can I—“ Cora takes a step forward and reaches out but she's stopped by a sudden hand on her wrist.

“No.” Derek states, giving his sister a quelling look.

She yanks her hand free but shrugs without an ounce of noticeable respect in her expression.

“Later,” Stiles stage whispers. He grins, all teeth, when Derek's eyes snap to back to him in mild annoyance. Cora nods back at Stiles and Derek’s glare turns deeper.

But then Derek is pulling Stiles in for a prolonged hug that includes a lot of deep inhaling, temple rubbing, and general scent-marking that Stiles has gotten used to over the years. Somewhere between the nemeton and Peter’s second (third?) betrayal, Derek got a lot more touchy-feely with his pack members. Being away to college has made Derek’s need that much stronger. They don’t do puppy piles or full on nuzzle each other but there is probably more casual touching than the general public would consider 'normal.'

Stiles' breasts feel kind of nice pressed up against Derek’s firm chest; forgoing buying a bra has not only saved him money but also given him access to a new sensation. He doesn’t hate it. His eyes are closed and he breaths in the warm, spicy smell of Derek's cologne. Even though they were battling a motherfucking dragon two days ago, Stiles finds himself trying to horde the Derek's scent, hold it inside where he can find balance within himself.

When they part, Scott is next to get aggressively hugged by Derek. Cora throws her arms around Stiles’ neck, squeezing tightly. She smells like wet earth and something bright; it's comforting in its own way. Their boobs, Stiles notes, fit together like teeth of a zipper though Cora’s are sitting slightly higher since she’s wearing a bra. Stiles’ flinches a bit when Cora cops a feel as she pulls away. A promise is a promise though and he exchanges an smile with her when they separate.

Isaac grabs Scott and Stiles both in a single hug that doesn’t last very long because they saw each other yesterday for a Matrix marathon in Scott’s dorm room. Stiles took that time to go through all five stages of grief under the covers. Isaac handled him well, rubbing at his back soothingly and lending Stiles his biggest hoodie. Stiles had pulled that over the lightweight one Scott had already given him. (Stiles isn’t a werewolf but being enveloped in his pack mates’ smells and having the extra padding made being a temporary girl easier to accept. Having Deaton talk him down helped a lot more though.)

They eat homemade chicken enchiladas with refried beans and it’s awesome. Stiles has been eating too much fast food lately despite it making him a hypocrite when he’s still keeping tabs on his dad’s eating habits. He can justify it though because he’s twenty years-old and a broke college kid who can’t afford fresh veggies and free-range beef when Taco Bell and Wendy’s have value menus. Isaac does Ms. McCall’s recipe justice. There might have even been some food porn sounds coming from Stiles’ mouth. He doesn’t feel guilty about that at all. Especially when he notes he isn't the only one enjoying the food.

Afterwards, Isaac and Scott take over the TV in the living room playing some old school _Smash Brothers_. Derek claims his overstuffed chair and yells the occasional insult to the both of them during breaks from reading the latest Grisham novel. Cora and Stiles are sitting on the deck with their legs hanging over the edge. The back of the house faces the depths of the preserve where the trees are shedding their leaves. It’s beautiful.

“Good thing you’re off for Thanksgiving break.” Cora bumps shoulders with Stiles. “I’m pretty sure at least one of your professors would notice your condition.” She rakes her gaze over him, lips quirked on one side. She seems to think the whole thing is funny.

“Nah, the benefits of being in a state college is that the class sizes are rarely smaller than seventy-five. None of my professors take roll and two of my classes are done through web chats anyway.” He rests his arms on the railing in front of him and leans his chin there. “I think Quincy might be a little freaked about finding a strange chick sleeping where I’m supposed to be though.”

It had been dumb luck that his roommate had been asleep when Stiles first came back to the dorm the other night. Being caught up with a Trickster and dealing with an alternate reality where Scott, Derek, and Stiles had to fight a fucking dragon was enough drama without having to explain (in non-supernatural ways) to Quincy exactly why Stiles was looking a lot more feminine than usual.

“Yeah, you are pretty shit at picking anyone up.” Cora teases as she leans back on her palms. “It is so weird to see you as a girl. You look exactly like yourself still but…softer.” She gives him an appraising look. “You look good though.”

Rolling his eyes, Stiles says, “Well, it’s nice to know I get your stamp of approval." He shakes his head.  "Lydia and Allison tried to talk me into wearing a skirt and this slinky top thing. But not happening, sister. Because once I said yes to that, you know they would have made me shave my legs. I cut myself often enough on the face and I’ve been doing _that_ for years; my legs would have looked like a murder scene.”

Cora’s laugh is harsh in the stillness of the fall evening and it brings warmth to Stiles. He grins at her.

“I think that during my stint as a woman I’m going to be one of those feminist types who refuse to comply with society’s expectations of what a woman should look and act like. No shaving, no makeup, no bras, no expensive clothing or painful heels.” When Cora just gives him an unimpressed look, Stiles heaves a dramatic sigh. “Yeah, okay so I’m actually just being lazy and using my whole Ignore it Until it Goes Away plan.”

“So basically,” Cora says, “you’re just being Stiles. But with tits.”

“And sadly, no dick.” Stiles twists his mouth in consternation. “I really miss my dick. We have good times, me and my dick.”

“I feel so bad for you.” Cora sounds like she has no amount of feeling bad. She looks over her shoulder to where the glass door leads to the open kitchen and living room. When she turns back to Stiles, she starts to ask, “so are you and…” but she trails off and looks uncomfortable.

Stiles isn’t surprised when he hears the door sliding open. Cora stays seated beside him for a good long pause, staring at the side of Stiles’ face before she finally gets up with a scoff. Her presence is traded for another, heavier and deeper one to his right. Stiles licks his bottom lip and he can feel his traitorous heart hitching into a faster pace. He’s been trying to avoid this, being alone with Derek. Especially right now.

He tries to avoid so many things in life—things that he is scared of. There are too many to list and that’s why he ignores them, hides them in the recesses of his mind.

Derek stays quiet and waits him out.

After close to ten minutes of silence, Stiles cards his fingers through his shaggy hair and grips the seat of his skull with nervous energy. He stares down at his lap and unconsciously notes the way his breasts sway a little without his arms to cage them.

“You’re ruining my plan here, Derek.” He pulls his legs up to his chest and starts tapping along the sides of his shins for something to do with his fingers. He can't help but look over at Derek, at his profile in the light shining from the fixture mounted by the door. “You’re not supposed to be coming to check on me/ that way I can just forget about what happened. Because nothing happened, right? Nothing that was a good idea.” The last sentence comes out more as a whisper to himself but he's not dumb enough to assume Derek doesn't hear it.

He can suddenly recall the damp slide of lips on his, grainy with volcanic ash. Stiles feels as if he’s seventeen all over again, hands sweating and heart quickly gaining pace.

“It’s my job to check up you.” Derek pauses before correcting himself. “I want to check up on you because you’re pack and you’re important.” His voice is solid but almost...apologetic. Reflexively, something a lot like security rushes through Stiles.

And then Derek adds, “Since when have either of us followed good ideas when it came to our own well-being’s?” Quieter, so quiet: “Who says it’s a bad idea?”

A hot flare of anger and embarrassment fills Stiles. He whips his head over to look at Derek. Derek is sitting there with his legs stretched out in front of him, ankles hooked together like this is the most mundane conversation ever.

“I say it’s a bad idea because your timing is terrible, Derek. You wait until I get turned into a girl before you make any kind of move on me? Do you prefer me this way?” Stiles climbs onto Derek’s thighs quickly, fists the collar of Derek’s V-neck and glares down at him. “Only want me because I'm like this? Wanna fuck girl!Stiles, Derek?” His voice is angry, thick, and he can feel his knuckles turning white with the force of his grip.

Derek’s fingers are like a brand on his forearms where he grips him tightly enough to be noted but not enough to leave bruises. “Get off me, Stiles.” Alpha red bore into Stiles’ own human brown. “Don’t.” He says it like he's the vulnerable one here.

The fight drains out of Stiles and all that is left is defeat and more embarrassment. Stiles’ lets go of the fabric and pulls back until he’s slumped on Derek’s knees. “Sorry. Sorry.” He scrubs at his face. Being around Derek makes so many of his walls crumble down and Stiles has trouble functioning that way. “I can’t process this right now. I’m pissed and worried and weirded out about being stuck like this. I don’t know how to be a girl; I don’t _want_ to be a girl. And then you fucking kiss me after that dragon nearly incinerates us, Derek.” Stiles swallows and then asks, “What do you want from me?” He just wants a straight answer, something reliable and _real_ when so much of the past few days have been fucked up and skewed.

“I want to stop almost losing you without ever having you.” Derek grips the unfamiliar swell of Stiles’ hips. His face is sharp with emotion, eyes intense and dark. “I want you to do this: me and you, together. I’ve wanted this for too long and it’s been one too many close calls of you almost dying, of you choosing other people.”

Stiles blinks at Derek’s revelation because this is the most honest and heart-felt he’s heard Derek be in a long time. “I—“

Derek’s eyes close and he squeezes Stiles’ waist, cutting him off. “I’m being selfish but I’m sick of holding back. You deserve someone better--someone not as broken as me, but I’m done.” Then he opens his eyes again and stares directly into Stiles’. He is determined and so serious. “I love you.”

Stiles pushes Derek’s hands off and jumps up.

 

He runs away.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dad gives him a shot of whiskey when he gets home even though it’s technically against the law. “I have a feeling you’ve broken more serious laws in the name of saving lives. I’ll let this slide because you’re…” Dad waves at Stiles’ body and shrugs.

The alcohol burns in the best way possible. “Probably best if you don’t ask any questions. Plausible deniability and all that.” Stiles doesn’t feel like his insides are twisting up anymore. He's tired and he's got a headache.

“I trust you’ll tell me when it’s important.” Dad gives him a Look.

It still feels fucking awesome to have his dad’s faith again. Over the years, Stiles has learned that pushing his dad out of the loop and trying to keep him ‘safe’ by withholding information rarely kept Dad from getting hurt. Their relationship had taken a huge hit during high school because of Stiles’ wall of silence on the supernatural. Stiles has been a lot better since then.

Rolling the empty shot glass between his palms, Stiles says, “Thanks, Dad.”

Dad pops his neck and stands up from the kitchen table. He squeezes Stiles’ shoulder as he passes by. “I love you, son. You’ll get through this.” After Stiles leans his temple against his wrist for a moment, Dad pulls away and says, “Get some rest.”

And then Stiles is left alone downstairs as his father prepares for bed.

He pulls his cell phone back out and rereads the text message he received an hour ago. He doesn't know why he's surprised Scott knows. He's a werewolf; he could probably smell the hormones and sick indecision when Stiles made his hasty escape from Derek's.

_From: Scott  
-WTH? Thought u wanted this_

He taps at the screen and finally replies.

_From: Me  
-I do but it wasn’t supposed to happen like this._

_From: Scott_  
_-Deal with it Stiles. U think its cuz u got a girl body now? No way man. U kno this._

 _From: Me_  
_-Funny how he waits until now to suddenly reciprocate my feelings. And you know he knows how I feel. NASA probably knows how I feel._

 _From: Scott_  
_-Stop being stupid and talk to him for real. Seriously._

Stiles sets his shot glass in the sink before making his way slowly to his old bedroom. The walls are still papered with posters of his favorite bands from high school. It smells a little dusty and severely familiar.

_From: Scott  
-Call him. Go over there. Something. NOW b4 u screw this up more._

And people think Stiles is the dramatic one. He worries his bottom lip.

_From: Me  
-You’re a hopeless romantic, Scott. Maybe this isn’t supposed to happen._

_From: Scott_  
_-U+Drk=inevitable_

 _From: Me_  
_-I hate you._

 _From: Scott_  
_-Love u 2. I win._

 _From: Me_  
_-Lies._

 _From: Scott_  
_\- :D_

Stiles opens up a new text thread because this is the age of impersonal communication and because Stiles is a coward. So much of a coward.

_From: Me  
-I promise not to run away again if you come over._

There’s no answer but Stiles flips open the lock on his window because if this is going to happen, it’s going to happen like it would have back in high school. Derek must think so too because he climbs over the sill twenty minutes later.

Stiles is sitting on his bed, still dressed even though it’s going on one in the morning. “’Sup?”

Derek’s eyebrows are pulled together in a stoic expression.

“Yeah,” Stiles bites at his thumb nail. “So I guess we need to be upfront here because this is important and there’s a lot on the line here.” He pulls together all the mettle he’s developed over the years. For some stupid reason, speaking feels more dangerous right now than anything he’s faced yet. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time and apparently you check the ‘yes’ box to that. That kind of blows my mind—in case you were confused by the fleeing I did earlier. I’m still kind of having trouble dealing with all this happening right now.

“You’ve only ever been with women as far as I know and now I’ve got no dick. Now you kiss me, tell me you love me and expect me to roll with it? Sorry, but my jaded mind is telling me ‘danger, Will Robinson’ here.”

While Stiles speaks, Derek silently pads to the bed. He hesitates as Stiles comes to the end of his confession before sitting gingerly on the foot of the bed.

Stiles’ pulse is pounding in his ears; he can only imagine what it sounds like to Derek. Silence stretches out for a few moments and it feels so fucking long.

“I don’t know how to make you believe me.” Derek sounds lost. He turns to Stiles with an open expression. “I’m not good at this, Stiles.”

Crossing his arms, Stiles says, “Okay, cool then. So we have confessed our love and we’re still stuck here with our thumbs up our asses.”

“Damn it, Stiles!” Derek clenches his jaw in frustration. “Why are you so…” He trails off, seemingly unable to find the correct adjective to describe Stiles.

“ _This_? This is more like it: you being irritated at me and me being a smartass.” He kicks his sneakers off with a sigh. Stiles can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips when he sees Derek’s glower. “It’s late and I’m supposed to start the turkey at like the ass crack of dawn tomorrow. How ‘bout we sweep all this emotional crap under the rug for the next few hours? Get some shut-eye?”

Derek can tell, Stiles knows, that he’s bulldozing through the anxiety rolling through his veins. Derek also knows that this is how Stiles works through things. He hopes Derek will take it for the olive branch it is. He wants to believe Derek.

They pull their belts off but leave jeans in place after Derek turns off the light. In the darkness when nothing but steady breathing ghosts between them, Stiles turns onto his stomach. He doesn’t have to adjust his junk (because there isn’t any) but his breasts feel distracting as they squash into the mattress. Stiles’ knee juts out and brushes against Derek’s thigh; he presses harder into the bed, wishing he’d never been turned into a girl.

Derek’s knuckles skating over his shoulder blade is the last thing Stiles remembers before sleep overtakes him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The banging of the pipes as Dad turns on the shower is what wakes up Stiles. His eyes are bleary but he notes that the sun has barely started to rise which means he’s got at least another hour before he needs to start the turkey. Flipping his pillow for a cool spot, Stiles shifts. He rolls his hips forward, looking for some languid pressure against his morning wood.

His morning— “Fucking shit!” Stiles pushes himself up on an elbow. He gropes down the front of his jeans and groans with pleasure and relief when he grasps his hard dick. “Oh thank God.” He gives a few tugs just because he fucking _can_.

“Need some privacy?” Derek asks from six inches away. He's smiling lazily even as his eyes flick down the bed to where Stiles' arm disappears beneath the sheets.

Somehow Stiles is still able to blush, but his embarrassment isn’t enough to make him stop. His eyes slit open when he tilts his head to look over at a sleep rumpled Derek. When he sees the wide pupils staring intently back, Stiles makes a noise at the back of his throat and increases the pace on his dick.

“Nope. Just gonna take care of this here because I missed my boner.” He’s panting as jolts of pleasure speed up and down his spine. “Deal with it or leave.”

Stiles can’t look away (doesn’t want to because jerking off with the object of his fantasies right there in living color is too much to deny). He watches as Derek rakes his gaze over him, probably taking in the subtle righting of his angles, the lack of breasts, before Derek comes back to considering Stiles’ face.

Despite the fact that he’s watching the entire time, Stiles doesn’t expect the way Derek leans in and pulls his bottom lip into his mouth softly. He automatically opens up and lets his tongue push against Derek’s. This feels exactly like, and yet better than, their first kiss. It’s slow and deep while Stiles fucks into his own fist raggedly, ignoring the semi-dry pull against his palm. Derek’s body gravitates towards Stiles and he slips a proprietary hand under the hem of Stiles’ shirt, right above the edge of his jeans.

Teeth scraping against Derek’s chin now because he can’t keep still enough to properly kiss, Stiles whines. The way Derek presses his hips down makes him want to spread his knees.

“This is so—“ Stiles gulps air down as Derek tucks his face into the crook of his neck and bites at the vulnerable flesh there. “—fucked up. You and me…”

“Yeah.” Derek growls, digging his blunt nails into Stiles’ lower back. That one word sounds fucked out.

Stiles’ climax is hard enough to make his feet cramp up and legs twitch. He pulses over his knuckles more than he has in a very long time. Vision whiting out just a bit, Stiles can hear Derek’s grunts like he’s—

“Are you…” Stiles is flopped onto his stomach, hand still in his jeans as he blinks at Derek.

Derek’s eyes are practically all black as he lies on his side facing Stiles, rocking into the circle of his hand. It’s an intense scene to have in front of him after having fantasized about it for so long, wanted it for so long. Stiles stares with a slack jaw as Derek makes quick work of getting off. When he comes, Derek presses the side of his head into the pillow, eyes shutting involuntarily. He gasps Stiles’ name.

Without realizing he’s doing it, Stiles leans forward and sucks at Derek’s pulse point because he’s got to be involved, taste it somehow.

Coming back down, Derek’s breathing evens out to match Stiles. They lie there briefly until the pipes bang again. Had it really been less than ten minutes?

“Well, that happened.” Stiles finally says, feeling a need to run his tongue over mouth, replay the feeling. “Mutual masterbation’s always nice.” He pauses and then says, “I guess the dick thing doesn’t necessarily bother you then.”

Hope and relief blooms up in Stiles; he grins stupidly before half-heartedly wiping off his right hand and rolling onto his back.

Reaching over, Derek laces his fingers with Stiles’, brings it up to his face. “I don’t care if you’re a guy or a girl, Stiles.” He places a chaste kiss on the back of Stiles’ hand. And then he sucks Stiles’ thumb into his hot, wet mouth. Because he apparently wants to break Stiles’ brain. “I love you no matter what.”

“I see.” Stiles says as Derek releases his digit. “I love you too.” He feels sober suddenly and the haze of his climax fades to the background. “I never thought I could have this.”

“You had me before I even realized it, Stiles.” Derek meets him halfway, lips driving in a firm but brief kiss.

Stiles falls back onto the bed and says, “I always knew you were a marshmallow on the inside.” He pushes playfully at Derek’s bedhead and laughs. “I love you. I love you and I’m really damn glad to have my correct anatomy back.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles calls Deaton to let him know the spell wore off quicker than expected. Deaton’s humming noise is expected. And Stiles isn't surprised with being left a little confused when Deaton asks, “I wonder if your Trickster was one of those that likes to teach life lessons?”

He decides it doesn’t matter what the Trickster did because in the end, Stiles and Derek get together because they love each other. And they finally stopped being stupid about it.

**Author's Note:**

> My trickster (idea taken from Supernatural) is female and also not Gabriel.


End file.
